


A Sevenmas Carol

by ddagent



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, F/M, Family Fluff, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: On the road to King's Landing, Jaime Lannister is plagued with visions from three spirits.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 60
Kudos: 160
Collections: Sevenmas & Other Winter Holidays





	A Sevenmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was longer than I thought! It's also my first oneshot since September. Happy reading; I hope you enjoy it.

“You will be visited by three spectres,” his cousin, the one he had murdered to be by his sister’s side, warned. “The first will come to you in the first hour of the new day.”

Scoffing, Jaime ignored the apparition and settled himself to sleep against a nearby tree. The vision was most likely due to exhaustion or lack of food – even after defeating the White Walkers, Winterfell had needed to preserve their supplies. When Jaime had left to return south, he had taken as little as he could. He hadn’t wanted to do any more damage – _any more than he already had_. So, _no,_ there was nothing otherworldly about the vision of his cousin. Just a phantom brought on by lack of food. 

“Hello, Jaime.” 

“Arthur?”

There was little to tell one hour from the next along the King’s Road. But there Arthur stood, wearing the white cloak that Jaime had long since discarded. He grasped Jaime’s shoulder like he was still that green boy looking for glory and honour. He held out his hand and Jaime, as he had then, followed Ser Arthur Dayne into the darkness. Visions of Sevenmas’ past overwhelmed him. His blessed mother singing songs at the base of a huge Sevenmas tree; Jaime and a young Addam Marbrand skating on a frozen lake while Cersei and Melara Hetherspoon looked on. Other memories came, too. The two Sevenmas’ he had endured while serving Aerys; the smell of death amongst pine and holly.

Jaime and Arthur stared at their former selves. “Who led you here, boy?” his sire asked, placing a firm hand upon his shoulder. “Who left you here?”

Someone else answered for him. “She’ll be the death of you.”

The throne room of old faded; Aerys’ white face disappearing into the darkness. Arthur, too, had gone. Jaime was once again back where he had started; standing foot deep in snow along the King’s Road. And Olenna Tyrell, long dead, stood before him; her black mourning gown dragging through the white. She stared at him pitifully; Jaime swallowing and taking a step back until his cloak hit bark. 

“I don’t–I don’t want any more of what... _whatever_ this is.”

“And, yet, you’ll come with me all the same.” 

If Arthur’s visit had brought the past, Olenna’s visit brought the present. He witnessed the young Stark girl sitting by a campfire with Clegane; neither saying a word. There was Tyrion, heading south, sipping wine and reminiscing about a gift Jaime had given him one Sevenmas. Olenna walked by his side through the halls of the Red Keep; little cheer to be found. They stood at the base of his sister’s bed as she fucked Euron Greyjoy.

“Enough.”

“Not yet.” 

The stone walls of the Red Keep were replaced by the scorched foundations of Winterfell. He knew this room as well as the one before; he had lingered here an entire turn of the moon with Brienne. They had lain together in every sense of the word; they had broken their fast at that table and shared meagre evening meals that felt like a feast in her company. Brienne had talked of Tarth and Jaime had had to hold his tongue time and again from promising to visit the Sapphire Isle. He saw her, now, sitting at their table. Oathkeeper was banished to a corner; Brienne lost in thought as she stared out at the falling snow. 

“Have you eaten today, Ser?” Lady Sansa appeared in the doorway; Podrick’s expression equally grave. 

“I find myself without appetite.” Her young charges exchanged a glance. “It’s fine, my Lady. I’m not hungry. Let the rations go to those who have more need of it.” 

“You have need of it,” he found himself saying. “Dammit, Brienne, you _need_ to eat!” He sighed. While the men of Winterfell had begun to repair the castle brick by brick, so he could see Brienne building her own walls to hide behind. She had opened herself to him, had _begged_ him to stay, and she had been rewarded by his choice. A man who would rather choose death than to be with her. “Brienne, I—” He could not say the words. “I would have hurt you, eventually. I was never the man you needed me to be. You deserve better.”

“Life is not given to the deserving, Kingslayer. Of that, I know quite well.” 

Olenna’s voice faded, replaced by another. The scene at Winterfell faded, too. They were in another castle; a beautiful stained-glass window overlooking an unfamiliar sea. Jaime held no memories of this place. It was not the halls of Casterly Rock that Arthur Dayne had shown him. Nor was it the Red Keep or Winterfell that Olenna had presented. Jaime thought, perhaps, that his final visitor would have brought him to Riverrun. But this was not her home, either. 

“Lady Stark.” 

“Kingslayer.” While the others had been eager to show him visions, Catelyn Stark seemed wary. Perhaps she had no desire to show him his future. Perhaps he had no future to show. “Nothing has changed since the last we met.” 

He raised his golden hand in her direction. “Oh, a few things have.” 

“You’re still in a cage. Just this one of your own making.” 

Lady Stark drifted away from him. Her attention turned to the vast Sevenmas tree in the corner of the room. Presents were wrapped in bolts of cloth; seven stockings hung above the hearth. A child’s messy stitches spoke of names Jaime did not know: _Grandfather, Papa, Mama, Uncle, Cat, Brynden, Joanna._ Lady Stark touched the stocking bearing her namesake with a fond expression. She then turned her gaze upon him once more.

“I could show you your future, Kingslayer. But we both know you will die in King’s Landing.” 

“In the arms of the woman I—” The words caught in this throat. “The woman I _love.”_

“You do not fear death. You fear the possibility of life; of _living.”_ Outside the hall, the excited babble of children drew closer. “Here. Face it.” 

Before Jaime could question Lady Stark further, the grand doors were pulled open. A girl, perhaps eight, barrelled through. A younger boy joined her. They both shared the same mop of unruly golden hair and sapphire blue eyes. The girl immediately ran for the tree and found a rectangular gift wrapped underneath. She brandished it like a sword; beaming from ear to ear.

“It has to be. It _has_ to be!”

“Papa said you’re still too small for a _real_ sword.” 

“What did I say?” 

Jaime froze as another version of him entered the grand hall. There were more flecks of grey in his beard; the lines around his eyes had grown deeper. The golden hand was missing. In his arms, however, was another golden babe. Her pudgy hand pulled at the laces of his muslin shirt before tugging at the wiry strands of his beard. His other self laughed, rich and deep, and allowed himself to be dragged to the floor by the children. 

_His children._

“Papa, can we open presents?” 

“Please, Papa!”

The other Jaime shook his head. “No, no; not yet. We need to wait for your mother and grandfather.” 

Neither child was happy with that arrangement. Yet it did not take long for Brienne to arrive. Before he saw her, Jaime _knew_ she was the mother of his children. He saw it in their eyes. He saw it in their smiles. In _his_ smile, too, as his other self watched Brienne enter what he now realised was one of the rooms inside Evenfall Hall. She wore a dark robe; blonde hair falling over her shoulders. A lifetime away from the woman he had last glimpsed in the courtyard of Winterfell. Brienne lifted their eldest daughter into her arms and wrapped them tight around her. The other Jaime planted a kiss atop Brienne’s lips; his smile bright and easy. 

“Lady Lannister.”

“Lord Tarth.”

The other Jaime beamed. “Where’s your father?” 

Brienne made a disgruntled noise. “ _Your brother_ drunk him under the table. I’ve sent the maester to wake him. Until he arrives, no presents.” The boy, the Brynden from the stockings, huffed. The older girl scowled and looked so much like Jaime in his youth that his heart seized. “All right, Cat. _Just one.”_

The children raced underneath the tree. Brienne settled against the other Jaime’s shoulder; both of them fawning over their youngest babe. _Joanna._ After her grandmother. Jaime turned to Lady Stark, who was smiling fondly at her former sworn sword and the daughter she had named after her lady. After a moment of watching a tableau that would never come to pass, he turned away.

“I don’t deserve this.” 

“Did I deserve my end, Kingslayer? Did my husband and sons? Does your sister, after all she’s done, deserve to die in your arms like lovers from a song?” Lady Stark blinked away a tear. “Life is not given to the deserving. It is not a case of what you deserve. What do you want, Ser Jaime?” 

He did not even have to think. “ _Her.”_

_\--_

On the last day of Sevenmas, Brienne lit a candle in the sept for Ser Jaime. She hoped the Stranger, when it came for him in the new year, would be kind as he carried him from this world. She then left the sept and the handful of others praying to the new gods before taking a walk in the gardens. Sansa’s brother claimed spring would arrive soon. While young Bran Stark claimed to know what was to come, Brienne had some inclination as well. The year had begun with an uncertain future. It would end just the same. 

“Brienne?” 

She spun on her heel at the familiar voice. Jaime Lannister stood before her in the same clothes in which he had left. There was fresh snow in his hair and hope in his eyes. He should be on the King’s Road. He should be facing death at the turning of the year. Instead, he was here. _With her._ “You were well away. Why come back?”

His eyes shone with none of the hesitation that had so plagued them before. And he smiled as if spring was already here. “I dreamed of you.” 


End file.
